Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.”

13 November 2009

"mama raised me on riddles and trances fat back channel cat lily white lies"

"all dressed up in gimcrack fancy.  i never met papa i never asked why"

kokle pronounced ko'wak-le.  koks is trees.  similar to the kantele of lands northmore.  i played one as a kid, a blonder, fancier type.  the one here is probably more true to is ancestors.  im looking for someone who trafficks in obscure baltic stringed instruments perchance to renew my mesmerized love for the kokle.

i have speakers, but theyre not THE speakers, but theyre my fathers, still.

feeling ungainly today, a loose ball.

"beetle eyed jokers hick town princes rhinestone rubies rubber cigars"

slept and painted this weekend, played purrs on cats and danced with dogs.  i came home today and there was coffee,  mint chip and cookies.  there were dogs and music the hearthfire burning.
nels cline and the woman at the ford the woman at the ford.  the fluorescent glare of work a million impalements the thick alien air for november i couldnt breathe my thoughts spit out in blinking gasps i said the word retarded a lot i felt like my father before the first drink.

"wrassled me a gator in omaha city done me another down in new orleans"

so jiggety jig pixie lights the light didnt hurt my skin i gave out biscuits boiled water mixtapes for bornagains getting signals on the hill sensitive more even now to energy sucks getting my sealegs feeling better and everyone says i look worse.   my aries sucks the oxygen right out of my environment im superaware that hes there and i cant think for myself not supposed to.  between channels but hes upstairs and ssp comes on and after a long in i arrive at great exhale.  #1 son trying for the team so he can wear purple and be jesus.

unmedicated rage.  i fill fill fill to make up for the beauty i live without, i read.
i get supersaturated or faraway and back in the swim of work and family is sometimes more than i can spin.  i need clear firm boundaries like a dog.  today is a steve earle song and something strong.  


"ive been sleeping with a stranger in a no-name town thanksgiving dinner at the top hat lounge christmas eve at the fantasy tan"

realized once and for all outloud to myself i dont give a fiddlers foreskin for red letter days.  a benign case of the kidwiththeviciousalcoholicfatherhateschristmas garden variety dysfunctional jaded heartbreak i thought but announced itself full fledged in small town glaring november afternoon as shit on my shoe and for someone like me its liberating to say This Is How I Feel.

and now all this because i wore a black pocketed apron with a ketchup bottle and the muscle memory dragged up the ghostofwaitronpast and i ached for blunt panic and a cigarette the smell of grease and man and the jingle of time in my pocket.


"underneath the levee in the cattail thicket down in the shadows of a shady grove"

hen party wine around the world a turtle and the presley cat and im good blood and tattoos.

today at breakfast i breathed different air and she was beautiful.


"theres a thatch roof risin' from a poke fence picket and white smoke billows from a coal black stove"

sometimes i have nothing to say but i want to walk down the dark street with you laughing.


 "inside the house is a hall of mirrors inside the mirror is the temple of sin inside the temple is the face of mama"


"and mama she know where i been"

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Blessed Be.

"And if the question were asked: What is more real, the mundane or the sublime? most would hesitate before they gave an answer. On the one side, details: say, the aftermath of a breakfast, dirty chipped plates in the sink, their rims encrusted with egg yolk. Against this, the unnameable: small aching heart with boasts, what can you know? Outside the cage of everything we ever heard or saw, beyond, outside, above, there lies the real, hiding as long as we shall live, there stretch and trail the millions of names of God burning across the eons. When all through this our end will come before we even know the names of us.

For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.

"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well."

"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.

"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.

"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.
"Cometh a voice: My children, hear; From the crowded street and the close-packed mart I call you back with my message clear, back to my lap and my loving heart. Long have ye left me, journeying on by range and river and grassy plain, to the teeming towns where the rest have gone - come back, come back to my arms again. So shall ye lose the foolish needs that gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve to heal the fretted nerve. Treading the turf that ye once loved well, instead of the stones of the city's street, ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell, but the wind that croons in the ripening wheat. I that am old have seen long since ruin of palaces made with hands for the soldier-king and the priest and prince whose cities crumble in desert sands. But still the furrow in many a clime yields softly under the ploughman's feet; still there is seeding and harvest time, and the wind still croons in the ripening wheat. The works of man are but little worth; for a time they stand, for a space endure; but turn once more to your mother - Earth, my gifts are gracious, my works are sure. Instead of the strife and pain I give you peace, with its blessing sweet. Come back, come back to my arms again, for the wind still croons in the ripening wheat."
-John Sandes, The Earth-Mother (excerpt, 1918)